You Found Me
by hansprinsessa
Summary: Pam finally finds what she's been searching for. Contains possible spoilers for S7. Paric.


**A/N: Started out as a Tumblr drabble of Eric and Pam's reunion, but then this happened. Welp.**

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She hadn't realized just how resigned she was to never finding him, until the moment she did.

Giving up had never been a conscious decision, nor had she ever truly allowed herself to form the thought that he was gone for good, lost to her forever. But somewhere along the way, somewhere within the blur of desperation and hunger that had become the last six months of her life, she was vaguely aware that this was it for her; that she would search until she couldn't any longer, until she wasted away from starvation, and the pain from the ever growing fissures in her broken heart.

She couldn't allow herself to stop and think; thinking was too dangerous. She searched from the moment she woke, many nights stumbling into the safety of shelter from the sun on the verge of too late, to rest until she could start the cycle all over again. To stop and think about anything other than seeing him again would make it impossible to take another step, she was sure.

She was hungry, so much so that it gnawed in the pit of her stomach; burned in her throat until she was sure she would open her mouth to demand information one night only to find her voice had disappeared. At this point, she had lost track of how long it had been since she had a proper meal, although she felt the passing nights in her bones, right down to their very marrow; exhaustion and an ache that left her every movement feeling sluggish and heavy, her decision-making questionable at the _very_ best.

Somewhere in the back of her mind even then she knew if Eric was still alive, and somehow discovered the latest lengths she had reached to find him, he would positively _kill_ her for allowing her desperation to lead her to her game of Russian Roulette, but she didn't let her thoughts linger there long. It wasn't the first time she had toyed with ending her life, after all, or took a gamble that could leave her either finally dead, or where she's supposed to be, where she _belongs_; with _him_.

It was how she began her life with him, and it seemed fitting to end it the same way.

Her opponent's final words, though, had got her to thinking, hours after his remains had been carted away and she had a name and a place to go next. She had spoken to him before she thought it through, because the truth was, her god didn't _hate_ her. Her god was gone, disappeared, perhaps even dead, but despite all they had been through in recent years, she had no doubt she would meet her own inevitable demise knowing that her god _loved_ her in his own quiet, steadfast way, no matter what.

It was what kept her going, night after night, and she had to keep moving, to keep searching, to keep herself from wondering if he had met the true death without hearing her tell him again that she felt the same way.

Her courage and strength was truly beginning to slip by the time she reached her next destination, and it had been all she could do to refuse the clean blood of the child presented to her. Considering her personal history, she had found it distasteful enough that the human man was offering his own daughter as a gift, but she also knew that she would surely lose control and drain the girl, and if there _was_ a god besides her maker, surely the murder of a child would earn her bad karma that she certainly didn't need.

But most of all, even with their blood bond long since broken there was this niggling feeling, almost a sixth sense, that he was suffering, and somehow suffering along with this phantom version of Eric that's stayed just out of her reach made her feel closer to him.

He still looks like a phantom of his former self even now as she looks upon him, standing in the doorway, gripping the doorframe lest she fall to her knees in either relief or despair, she's not sure which. Even in the almost non-existent light in the room, she can see them; the dark veins cutting streaks through his sallow skin as the sickness flows through the body that was once so strong, that she knows as well as she knows her own.

His face is turned away from her as he sits in a plain wooden chair in the corner of the room, half-lit by the moonlight streaming through the window, but even without either of them acknowledging the presence of the other, even without their bonded blood, she knows he's awake, and as aware of her as she is of him, the room suddenly feeling ten times too small for the both of them.

"You are not supposed to be here," he finally whispers after what seems like a long time to Pam. The tears that had turned her vision a bloody red suddenly spill over at the sound of his voice, streaking down her cheeks; partially from the pure relief she feels having never thought she'd hear it again, and from the pained gruffness of it, hoarser than she's ever heard him before.

It takes her a moment to find her own voice, and when it comes, it's weak and thin. "Are you going to send me away?"

His sigh breaks the silence that falls after her soft question settles between them, and she watches his profile as he wets his lips, before finally turning his head enough to meet her eyes. Almost as if the connection is magnetized, she finds herself stepping out into the room, wringing her hands in front of her in a desperate attempt to keep them to herself.

"I didn't want you to see me this way," he murmurs after a moment, looking away from her once more as if he's ashamed, before he adds softly, "You have not fed."

"So _now _you're worried about my wellbeing?" she asks, hurt creeping into her tone.

"You should go home, Pamela."

She visibly flinches as the sound of her name on his tongue rolls over her like a wave, momentarily overwhelming her. She forces herself to swallow, injecting the backbone in her voice that made him want her all those years ago, even if it doesn't quite feel sincere. "I don't _have_ a home," she bites out, her tone coming out harsh as more tears spill down her cheeks, "My home _left_ me."

Still, he refuses to look at her. "But, Tara—"

"Tara died two nights ago," she interrupts him, "And how _dare_ you think she would _ever _be enough." She falls silent for a moment, barely stopping herself from accusing him of using the presence of the former waste of their blood as a way to make himself feel better about leaving her behind.

But now, without him, she would be completely alone in the world. Something she's had enough of in the last six months, and doesn't intend to experience any longer, one way or another. Her jaw clenches as she watches him, seeming to process this information, before she swallows thickly, her voice coming in barely a whisper. "You didn't answer me, Eric. Are you going to send me away?"

When he looks up at her, his eyes still burn bright blue even in their hollowness and the dark circles that rim them. When he smiles, just the smallest lift of one corner of his cracked lips, it's without a doubt the most heartbreaking expression Pam has ever seen, only to be compounded by his next words.

"I should," he whispers, "I should send you away from me. I don't deserve to have you here with me at the end. I _deserve_ to be alone, after what I've done to you. To _us_. After what happened to Nora because of my actions. But…" he goes on, dragging out the answer that will make or break her entire existence, his voice cracking as he finishes softly, "But I can't, Pamela. You of all people know I'm too selfish of a man for that."

A strangled sob escapes her as the sheer will that was holding her in place, several paces away from him, dissipates with his words, and she lurches forward, falling to her knees at his feet. Her tears are already spilling freely down her cheeks as she buries her face in his lap, clinging to him as her cheek presses against his stomach, his flesh strangely warm from the poison that darkens his veins.

"I was so scared," she gasps out only when she feels his arms envelop her, pulling her against him. "I thought I would never see you again."

"I'm here, prinsessa," he whispers, lowering to press his lips against the top of her head, before his nose buries into her hair, his chest expanding as he takes a deep breath to fill his lungs with her scent that brings him as much comfort as his brings her, before he adds softly, "You found me."

"I started looking for you the day you left," she chokes out, only burrowing further into his arms as his hand strokes her hair, "I never stopped. Not for one night. Where _were_ you?"

He doesn't answer at first, and when he does, it's not an answer at all, but is all the same something she's needed to hear. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice slightly muffled as he presses his lips into her hair again, "I'm so sorry, Pamela. For everything I've done that's caused you pain."

He falls silent, his arms tightening around her as her sobs wrack her slight frame, pressing his cheek against the top of her head as he lowers his lips to whisper against the shell of her ear, "You are _still_ my only legacy. You are the only thing I've ever done right in my long life, Pamela. The _only_ thing I'm truly proud of. Do you hear me?"

"Yes," she manages to answer.

"I love you," he goes on, his voice suddenly thick, "I love you, Pamela. And I'm so glad I've been given the chance to tell you that, before I—"

"No," she interrupts sharply, finally lifting her head to look at him to find tears rimming his own eyes; eyes that are filled with resignation that makes her cold blood turn to ice. "You're not…I'm not going to let you—"

"Pam," he says gently, his hand rising to touch her face, but she shakes her head vehemently, anger she hasn't allowed herself to feel for six long months, or longer than that if she's honest with herself, spilling over.

"No!" she almost shouts in her hoarse voice, "Fuck that, and fuck _you_. A hundred years at your side, Eric," she continues, her voice dropping to a hiss even as tears leak from her eyes, "A _century _together, and within the last few years you've left me, over and over again. _No more_."

He smiles sadly down at her, both of their gazes lowering to where the dark veins litter his chest. "I'm dying, Pamela," he answers her softly, his hand catching her chin as she attempts to look away, forcing her eyes back to his. "I'm sorry, älskling. I watched my sister die. I _know_ what comes next."

"No," she repeats brokenly, her chin trembling with her tears.

"It's okay," he whispers, his fingers stroking her cheeks, the smallest of smiles turning up his pale lips. "You're here now. I thought I wouldn't see you again," he murmurs, brushing his fingers through the blood that stains her cheeks, "I thought I would die without ever seeing your face, hearing your voice."

Her face crumbles, a guttural cry escaping her as he takes her into his arms, pulling her against him as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. Her tears cause her body to quake, her mind taking her to desperate places; only knowing that she can't live through finding him only to lose him once again.

His soothing words come in his mother tongue as he runs his fingers through her hair, holding onto her just as tightly as she clings to him, his head turning into hers, leaving the wetness of both their cheeks pressed together.

His whisper of her name is so soft she almost misses it, even spoken so closely to her ear, and as she pulls away to meet his eyes, their gazes lock for only the briefest of seconds before he lowers his head, pressing his lips gently against hers.

At first, she's so surprised that she can't seem to move, but when his hand fists in her hair in an all too familiar way it shakes her out of her shock. Suddenly, her small hands are clutching his cheeks as she returns his kiss, climbing fully into his lap as their lips move together; almost experimentally, as if they haven't shared this same intimacy for a century.

The second their tongues touch, it explodes into something more desperate; years of silent longing driving them as they both cling to each other, almost frantically pulling themselves closer. But when he groans in a way that makes her think _pain_, she pulls away abruptly, her hands still framing his face as she studies him for signs of it.

"I've missed you so much," he whispers before she can speak, and for the briefest of moments forgetting about his comfort, she wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly to her.

"I've missed you," she murmurs back, brushing her lips against the rough stubble of his jaw.

"Will you…" he begins, his voice so full of emotion that it breaks, and he's forced to swallow before he tries again. "Will you stay with me, Pamela? Until the end?"

She pulls back to meet his eyes, searching them for a moment before she nods, the movement causing the fresh tears that have welled in her eyes to spill over as she answers him, "Do you really have to ask?"

His eyebrow raises in a way that she's missed so much it makes her ache, as does the regret his eyes hold when his hand rises, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I do," he finally answers, a sad smile curling his lips, "After all I've put you through, I do."

"I've searched for you for six months," she whispers, "The things I've gone through to find you…I'm not leaving your side. _Ever_."

His soft smile becomes more genuine as his hand cups her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip as he murmurs, "Thank you."

She shakes her head, wetting her lips before she speaks with more confidence than she feels. "Don't thank me yet," she whispers, her eyes dropping to watch her fingers as they trace tentatively over the veins visible on his chest, wishing that her touch could take them away, let it be _her_ that is suffering instead of him. "I won't give up. Not tonight, not ever. And neither will _you_."

One scathing look stops him from protesting her words, and to her surprise, he nods his head slowly in a silent agreement. "Okay," he answers softly.

"I _will_ find a cure," she speaks in a passionate whisper, waiting until he nods his head again. "I'll search the whole _planet_ if I have to."

"Okay," he repeats, and despite herself, and for the first time in what seems like years, she can't help her soft laugh at how agreeable his illness has made him. She's still smiling as she wraps her arms around him, unable to stop herself from pressing her lips to his once more, murmuring against them as her fingers touch his cheek, assuring herself that he is really and truly there with her.

"If I found you, I _know_ I can find a cure."

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**A/N: Ehhh, marking this one as completed, but depending on how this episode goes, who knows? Review if you have time :D (And next chapter of Bad Company is coming ASAP)**


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